


Reprise

by akaihoshi



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Secret Santa, base conversation, canonverse, heart to heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:13:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21919645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaihoshi/pseuds/akaihoshi
Summary: “Ike…” Soren says softly, receiving a small grunt in response, “Um…”He quickly surveys the area, breathing deep for the first time in hours. It doesn’t feel right to stop fighting during such a crucial moment but Ike needs this. Without him, there’s no hope for anyone.He stills Ike’s hands and asks the first question that comes to mind.“Were you joking when you said you couldn’t remember how we met?” He asks.---A secret santa gift for the Ike/Soren discord.Ike and Soren's final base conversation expanded.
Relationships: Ike/Senerio | Soren
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	Reprise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hopeandjoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeandjoy/gifts).



> For weeks I'd been musing over the possibility of PoR/RD getting a 3H style remake and I wondered about how Intsys would handle this conversation. I doubted that they'd make it romantically explicit, so I wanted to see if I could write something that was suggestive but not in your face and still somehow 'seamlessly' fitting into the battle in which it takes place.
> 
> There's another part to this which I thought would be really cool to add, but it takes place after the battle and it didn't really fit in this part. I will probably add it as a second chapter a little later on. It's something like a secret scene that you could unlock in-game if you got this base conversation and kept Soren alive. 
> 
> I do wish I had had a little more time to flesh this out more as it still feels a bit weak to me, but nothing's ever totally perfect and I'm pretty happy with it as-is.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy my secret santa gift to @hopeandjoy!

Soren curses under his breath, spinning in place to hurl blades of wind through the corporeal form of a thunder spirit. He’s breathing heavily, eyes darting around for any more immediate threats. He finds none, but that does nothing to quell the paranoia swirling within him.

The spirits are fast, blipping in and out of existence at their whim, striking silently and without warning. 

This is nothing new to Soren. Certainly he’s had many encounters with assassins and their ilk… but the living always have tells. They can never mask their presence completely.

Not like the spirits, in any case.

Spirits are silent.

There are no voices, no cries of pain or taunts. There’s no rustling of fabric, crinkling of leather, creaking of wood, or even the shrill hiss of a blade as its removed from its sheath. 

No smells, no sounds… nothing. At best one might hear the faint crackling of thunder or the rush of wind just before a spirit strikes, but nothing more than that.

It makes for a haunting, silent battlefield, a fight between ghosts and those they haunt. Are they winning? Losing? Soren can’t say. He isn’t even sure destroying their questionably physical forms is actually doing any good. Perhaps their wealth of reinforcements is nothing more than the same spirits re-manifesting over and over again...

“Soren!” Ike’s voice rings out against the cold stone walls. Soren whips around just in time to see the blade of a wind spirit whizzing towards him. There’s no time to dodge. With practiced haste, he rips the Elfire spell from the pages of the tome at his hip and hurls it towards the enemy attack. The wind blade shatters at the center and scatters overhead, but not without a stray gust slicing the side of his face.

Soren thinks nothing of it. A surface injury like this is nothing new, but the look on Ike’s face as he pierces the spirit with Ragnell gives Soren pause. 

Ike gives him no room to ask anything. He grabs Soren by the wrist and drags him behind a small expanse of crumbled wall, forcing him to sit. Soren tries to stand - the others are still fighting after all - but the combination of Ike’s expression and his hand on Soren’s shoulder keeps him down.

“It’s only a scratch, Ike. You don’t need to-” Soren says, but Ike already has a vulnerary in-hand.

“Shut up, and hold still,” Ike grumbles. Soren wants to protest. There’s no time for treating such a minor injury. The world has turned to stone. If they don’t win this battle, then there’s no hope for anyone. It makes him uneasy to simply sit back when every moment that passes is another moment closer to death. A scratch like this isn’t worth fussing over.

Soren intends to say as much, but the words die in his throat as soon as the thick gel on Ike’s fingers brush against the bloody cut on his temple. It’s not the shock of cold against his wound that silences him, but the subtle trembling in Ike’s fingers.

It’s unusual. Ike is the very definition of steady. Outside of the rare fever, Soren cannot recall a single moment in which Ike openly shook.

It’s almost as though Ike… is afraid.

One look at Ike’s strained expression and Soren’s heart sinks.

He knows better than to think Ike unshakable. While herald as a hero, he’s still just a man. A once nameless mercenary who happened to stumble on a desperate princess. How was he to know that she would make him a noble - bound to the rules of the upper class? A general - responsible for the lives of his men? Or a hero - the one in which the entirety of Tellius surrendered their hopes to? 

That sort of pressure does something to a person. A lesser man would have broke by now. But not Ike. Ike is strong, but he’s not unbreakable.

And Soren can finally see the cracks.

Ike’s fingers trail down Soren’s neck, fumbling with his sleeves in a search for other cuts or bruises. At any other time Soren would have welcomed these touches, but the eerie silence of the tower makes it difficult to find pleasure in such actions… at least not when every touch filled him with worry over Ike’s emotional state.

Because Ike does this sometimes. When he doesn’t want to focus on himself or when his own pain gets too great, he shifts his focus to the problems of others. Anything to distract him from the thoughts and feelings that sicken him when he’s left alone. An unhealthy coping mechanism perhaps, but it’s gotten him this far. Surely it can carry him a little farther.

Soren has mixed feelings about Ike using his wounds as a distraction. He’s happy to help him but surely they won’t help Ike focus on the battle ahead. He needs something else, something that can’t be fixed right away - but something only he can help with and not because he’s some hero. The burden of fighting for a single person is easier for him than fighting for an entire continent's right to live.

“Ike…” Soren says softly, receiving a small grunt in response, “Um…”

He quickly surveys the area, breathing deep for the first time in hours. It doesn’t feel right to stop fighting during such a crucial moment but Ike needs this. Without him, there’s no hope for anyone.

He stills Ike’s hands and asks the first question that comes to mind.

“Were you joking when you said you couldn’t remember how we met?” He asks. Ike finally looks up, his eyes re-focusing as he processes the question. He looks confused, but his hands tremble just a little less.

“Well, sorta…” Ike says, “It was a long time ago.” The words hurt more than Soren cares to admit.

“How could you forget?” He regrets the words the instant they leave his lips, but the faintest hint of a smile on Ike’s lips eases his fears.

“Relax, Soren,” Ike says, “I got to thinking, and I remembered,” He rubs a little spare salve on the back of Soren’s scraped hand, “I remembered what happened in Gallia on the day we first met.”

“Ike…” Soren’s throat grows tight, and Ike spares him the embarrassment of trying to speak.

“Mother had gone shopping with Mist that day. I was wandering around the village all alone. I walked to the edge of the forest, looking for a stick I could pretend was a sword,” He let out a cold chuckle with a sideways glance towards Ragnell. He re-slicks his fingers with the vulnerary and continues massaging it into Soren’s hands, “There… was a raven-haired boy lying on the ground.”

“I remember that huge oak tree by the clearing,” Soren feels his heart lurch in his chest, “I’d been sleeping in the hollow by the roots.” 

“He looked like he was my age. He was skinny as a twig, wearing rags and covered in dirt,” Ike’s ghost of a smile grows just a little to match the barest hint of teasing in his voice, but both fall away after a short breath, “He looked like he was near death,” Soren swallows, but says nothing, “I took out my lunch and handed it to him. He made a noise like a scared animal and shied away.”

Ike tilts his head to one side, no longer massaging the vulnerary into Soren’s hands, but holding firm to them just the same.

“”He was suspicious of my at first, but eventually he took my sandwich and started to eat. It was like he’d never eaten before in his life,” This time he does smile, like he’s somehow fond of the memory. “I didn’t have anything else to feed him, so I told him to come to my house… but he kept shaking his head no.”

“I was afraid you were going to trick me,” Soren whispers, “Afraid that you were going to chase me away after taunting me with food, just for a laugh…” His voice cracks towards the end.

“I told the boy that I’d bring him some food the next day at the same time and place. He finally nodded when I said that,” Ike touches the slowly fading wound at Soren’s temple and smiles widely this time, “It made me happy. I felt like… like I was doing something right, helping this boy. Like I was the only one who’d do that.” 

Soren feels himself smile back. He touches the hand at his temple like its something fragile, for a moment forgetting the very real danger surrounding the two of them.

“...I was happy too,” He chokes out, “Not just because I wasn’t hungry anymore… but because someone finally would talk to me,” He licks his lips and takes a deep breath, “So I went back to the village again the next day. I was scared of the other villagers and their rocks and sticks, but I still went back.”

Ike’s smile falls, but his hands stay still.

“That’s right,” He says mirthlessly, “That was Gallia back then. The Beorc abused and tormented the Branded because the Laguz shunned them. They wanted to avoid upsetting the Laguz.”

“The villagers threw stones at me,” Soren says bitterly, “Called me an animal and a devil but… on the next day the village was littered with corpses. Soldiers and peasants were in a panic.”

“It was my dad,” Ike says, usually cold and detached, “He went crazy when the spirit of chaos in the medallion touched him.”

“I walked through the empty streets checking bodies to see if you were dead.” Soren continues, eager to not dwell on the fate of Ike’s father less it does more harm than good to Ike’s already fragile emotional state, “But I couldn’t find you. I decided that you had to be alive… I…” Ike squeezes Soren’s hand, urging him to continue, “I took money and food from the village and headed for Crimea, a land of Beorcs…”

“Soren…” Ike starts, but Soren cuts him off.

“On my way to Crimea, I kept seeing Laguz from the beast tribe. They were terrifying, but after a while I realized something. They never attacked me. They all seemed to notice something about me, and then pretend they couldn’t see me. That look was burned into my mind, and it was always the same. They’d scowl, then walk away like they’d never noticed me,” The words come tumbling out of him like an endless fumbling stream. He never expected to say so much and now that he’s started, he’s not sure if he can stop, “In a way, that left me feeling older and more alone than if they’d attacked me. Hate… that I could understand. This… this was denial. They made me feel like I wasn’t supposed to exist at all. That my simply being alive was an affront to the world.” 

His whole body trembles at the memories, but Ike holds him steady. 

“That was how the beasts treated me,” He spits out after a pause, “And I hated them for it.”

Soren looks up to meet Ike’s gaze again.

“It sat in my heart like a lead bar,” He looks away, “...Like a glacier.”

Ike says nothing, and when Soren moves to stand Ike stays put follows, releasing his hold on Soren’s hand and moving to pick up Ragnell. Ike manages to take two steps before Soren speaks again. He turns, full attention at Soren’s disposal.

“When I reached Crimea, I took refuge in a church along the way. They took my brand to be a sign that I had been trained in the arcane arts,” He gestures to the mark on his forehead, “They took good care of me, and taught me things. Once I had learned to speak and behave like other people, I wandered Crimea for several years,” Soren looks up into deep blue eyes and ignores the stinging in his own.”

“Then I finally found you,” He whispers, voice strained but horribly, desperately, full of love.

“But I’d…” Ike says.

“Yes,” Soren affirms, “You’d forgotten that day in Gallia. But I didn’t care. My only wish was to see you again… I…” He swallows the lump in his throat, “I just wanted to see the only boy who had held out a warm hand when I had nothing.”

“Soren…” Ike’s voice is full of concern, “Don’t cry.”

“Don’t cry? What? I’m not crying…” Soren says with an indignant sniff. He rubs his eyes with his sleeve.

“Soren, you’re smart, but you’re no good when it comes to your emotions,” Ike smiles fondly at him, “Come over here.”

Soren panics. This conversation was a mistake. He hadn’t meant to say so much. He only wanted to give Ike something else to think about so his blade may feel a bit lighter, but now it’s Soren who trembles. His body violently shaking from the sudden surge of emotions he hadn’t meant to unleash. 

“D-don’t treat me like I’m a child! I’m not that-” He sputters indignantly. It’s not what he meant to say, but saying anything else would make him feel even weaker. He can’t afford that. Not now. They still have work to do and precious little time with which to do it. 

“Come on,” Ike urges gently, arms wide open, silently asking Soren to move closer.

“Shut up!” A single sob bubbles from his throat, “Shut up…”

Ike lets out a deep sigh.

“Then I’ll come over to you.”

Before Soren can register the words, Ike has his arms wound around him and its comfort like Soren’s never felt before. His eyes blur with tears. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. He was only trying to distract Ike from the pressures of everyone else. He wasn’t supposed to break down like a child. This is a battlefield. They can’t afford to-

“It’s all in the past, Soren,” Ike whispers softly into his hair.

Whatever restraint Soren has finally lets loose. He sobs, and cries into Ike’s chest, and yet Ike does not move. He can hear Ike’s heartbeat, loud but steady and somehow that only serves to make Soren cry harder. 

They can’t stay like this, so Soren pulls away, eyes red and chest heaving. He must look a sight, but he doesn’t have the time or luxury to dwell on that. He rubs his eyes with his sleeves once more and picks up Ragnell from where Ike let the blade fall.

He fixes Ike with the strongest look he can muster and holds out the hilt of the blade for Ike to take.

“Now you listen to me,” Soren says, voice shaking from a renewed determination to see this battle through, “I’ve worked… too hard to finally find a place where I…  _ belong, _ ” He grits his teeth and snarls at Ike although there’s no malice in his actions, “And I am not about to let some woman, goddess or otherwise, take that from me.”

Soren swallows, but before he can say another word, he catches a glimpse of a shadow out of the corner of his eye. Lightning crackles from his fingertips on reflex. The spell snaps over Ike’s shoulder, piercing the fire spirit behind him.

Soren refocuses his gaze on Ike, and he smirks in a confident manner that belies how inadequate he truly feels and it’s hardly convincing given the redness of his eyes and the tear tracks down his cheeks, but this is not the time for dwelling on inadequacy or to debate whether or not one is fit for the task at hand. 

This is do or die.

“I’ve got your back, Ike,” He states in a way that leaves no room for argument, “So no matter what happens, you strike her down and you don’t look back.”

Ike looks as though he wants to say something. The worry from before flashes across Ike’s face but it doesn’t last long. 

Then he smiles, fear gone from his eyes, and takes Ragnell in hand, fingers lingering over Sorens for a few moments longer than necessary.

He holds the sword silently for a moment, eyes never leaving Soren’s face.

Finally, he speaks.

“I got it.”

One step and a breath later they’re back in the thick of things, cutting down ghostly forms alongside the other soldiers. 

Ike strikes at the enemy with a newfound ferocity that rallies those around him to do the same. It’s like the army catches its second wind, only it leaves Soren feeling a bit breathless at the rear. Is it his imagination or are the enemies’ numbers actually dwindling?

Before he has time to contemplate, Skrimir lets out a deafening roar, and the rest of the soldiers, Laguz and Beorc alike, follow suit.

“I believe in you, Ike,” Soren whispers as Ike cuts through the remaining spirits before him and approaches the goddess herself.


End file.
